Within the grounds enclosed by the stone walls there was no reflection of the disquiet manifest throughout the city. From the broad, elevated balconies of the palace, shining in the soft light diffused through the fusuma, there floated down to the strained ears of Keiki the sound of women’s laughter and the harsher tone of men’s voices. Music mingled with other sounds that indicated the quiet enjoyment of the night. The very guards at the doors were careless in the performance of their duties, looking with the eye of artistic appreciation upon the night’s gentle festivities.
Still undisturbed, Keiki passed through the palace entrances. An officer of the guard stared curiously for a moment after him once, then turned in forgetfulness to answer a woman’s jest. Keiki ascended a stairway. In an upper ante-room he met an undermenial.
“The chamber of the Shogun,” he said, coldly.
“Honorable lord,” began the menial.
Prince Mori thrust a parchment before his eyes.
“The chamber of the Shogun at once,” he said, sternly; “these despatches admit of no delay.”
“His august excellency is very ill and has retired,” said the servant.
Keiki turned upon him shortly.
“I know. Go!”
The attendant preceded him.